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How Nestorius Got Jackassed Out of the Early Church

April 11, 2019

In 431 AD, the leaders of the Western Church gathered to discuss the validity of a single Greek word: theotikos, “mother of God.” The phrase was in use by many church leaders to refer to Mary. It was meant as an affirmation of Jesus’ deity. A bishop named Nestorius, however, resisted the phrase. Nestorius’ concern was that calling Mary the “mother of God” was categorically confusing (how can a human give birth to deity?) and underplayed the humanity of Jesus. He was more comfortable calling Mary the “mother of Jesus,” which he felt upheld the dual natures of Christ as both human and divine.

Before you click away—and trust me, I get it if you want to—give me a couple more paragraphs. The boredom of this debate is where the jackassery sneaks in.

Enter Cyril and a whole lot of drama. He and other bishops were furious over Nestorius’ dissent on this issue, so they convened the Council of Ephesus to give an official Church ruling.

Let’s put this in perspective. Here are our spiritual ancestors meeting to discuss something important: Jesus. But they’re not trying to worship Jesus, nor are they working to draw closer to him, imitate him, or introduce others to him. No, they are gathering the heavy hitters so they can decide whether or not Nestorius should be allowed to call Mary “the mother of Jesus” instead of “the mother of God.”

It’s the perfect recipe for jackassery.

Before Nestorius’ supporters could arrive at the Council of Ephesus, his opponent Cyril rushed a vote on the theotikos question and had Nestorius excommunicated from the Church and exiled from the empire.

You know, because he wanted to make sure we saw Jesus as both human and divine.

Never mind that a statement uncannily similar to Nestorius’ view was agreed upon at the next Church Council (Chalcedon). There were Church politics to attend to and “truth” to be upheld.

“The Church once split over the Greek word theotikos and later over the Latin filioque. What are our modern debates where we’re splitting hairs and also splitting the Church?”

(Don’t worry too much about old Nestorius. In his exile, he left the Western Empire and started churches and mission training centers in India and China. The movement Nestorius founded bore incredible fruit, and Nestorianism continues to have an impact in Asia.)

If this chapter of Church history sounds petty, consider that it’s not all that unique. The Western Catholic Church and Eastern Orthodox Church split from each other (via mutual excommunication) in 1054 AD when they could not agree on whether the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father only (the Eastern Church’s view) or from the Father and the Son (the Western Church’s addition to the established creed). Once again the debate was over a single Latin word: filioque (“and from the Son”).

To be clear, the Church has had many faithful reformers who have stood up for key doctrinal matters (one thinks of Martin Luther and Martin Luther King Jr. as examples). We in no way want to imply that doctrine is trivial or that there is never a time to stand firm on the plain teaching of Scripture. But we are saying that when it comes to extra-biblical terms like theotikos and filioque, there may be room for gracious disagreement.

And to take it one step further: even when we disagree over what the Bible actually says, we have to always choose to posture ourselves like Jesus. If our theological disagreements make us less like Jesus, then we’re flat out wrong, regardless of how “right” our doctrinal assertions may be.

“If our theological disagreements make us less like Jesus, then we’re flat out wrong, regardless of how right our doctrinal assertions may be.”

What are our modern theotikos and filioque debates? The ones that basically come down to hair splitting but that we’re still willing to divide over? I’ve seen the Bible Project condemned (“I can no longer recommend these videos”) by a credible source because these short animated videos didn’t feature the right atonement model. I’ve seen Francis Chan farewelled (the Protestant version of excommunication) because he wasn’t willing to condemn specific people (“I now feel an obligation to warn people about Francis’ teaching”).

What else? Do you believe in miraculous healing or not? Do you preach out of one passage per week or jump around? Do you baptize babies or only adults (and do you put those adults through a ten-week class/exam or dunk them on the spot)? Is the book of Revelation history written in advance or is it using symbolic language? How normative is the book of Acts?

We could continue on. I don’t want to devalue truth, nor am I saying we shouldn’t have convictions. But I’m suggesting some of the things we spend our time fighting for might seem trivial when we look back years from now.

The Church’s Tone & Emphasis Problem

Mark Beuving

January 31, 2022

The Church has a tone and emphasis problem, which ties in to our PR problem. We are often speaking the truth, but we seem to have forgotten what it means to do this in love. Though I hear many evangelicals explain that they are “speaking the truth in love” they seem to be taking it to mean “I will say whatever I need to say to you in whatever tone I need to say it and that in itself is a loving act.” In other words, it’s loving to make sure people know what’s right; I don’t have to worry about being loving as I dispense that truth.

This is our tone problem. And actually, many times we are spouting our opinions—in many cases our unearned opinions–and calling those God’s truth. When we do this, we’re neither speaking the truth, nor doing so in love.

I’m old enough to have seen Christians get really worked up and focused on whether or not Christians are allowed to drink and whether or not Christians are allowed to listen to “secular” music. I’ve seen Christians advocate at full volume and with all of the self-righteous piety of a Puritan preacher that courtship and homeschooling are the only non-sinful options (I’m exaggerating, but only slightly). I’ve lived through periods when the Church’s biggest battles were over partisan politics—with many instances of churches bringing literal political candidates to “preach” in their pulpits. Lately we’re caught up in wokism and anti-wokism. We’re losing our minds over the prospect of women preaching. This list will never stop growing.

Let’s step back and take a breath for a minute. What does God call us to do in this world? Is it possible we’ve raised up as primary some issues that were never meant to be?

“We seem to be taking ‘speaking the truth in love’ to mean ‘I will say whatever I need to say to you in whatever tone I need to say it and that in itself is a loving act.'”

In Miguel de Cervantes’ novel Don Quixote, the eponymous hero fights boldly and bravely. No one can hold him back from what he knows is right. He disregards the protests of enemies and friends alike when they tried to dissuade him from his mission because he knows what’s right and he will boldly stand and defend truth and justice. The problem, of course, is the very thing that makes Don Quixote a comedy. Don Quixote is utterly misguided throughout the entire novel. In the book’s most famous episode, when Don Quixote attacks the ferocious giants terrorizing the country peasants, he’s actually attacking a row of windmills. With deep conviction. With full self-righteousness. But he’s utterly deluded.

I fear that this is a decent parable for the modern evangelical church. We’ve been brave. We’ve been bold. We’ve applauded for each other when we’ve fought the culture wars and said the things that are really difficult but important to say, such as correcting a minimum wage retailer who dares to utter “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” Few could accuse the evangelical church of lacking passion or not standing up for what we believe in.

The problem is that we’ve often been fighting like Don Quixote. Under the banner of being biblical we’ve often been jackasses. Under the pretext of being Christlike, we’ve often failed in the very things that Jesus said were the most important: loving God and loving our neighbors.

“Here’s a helpful rule of thumb: If you find your theological convictions making you less like Jesus, then something is off.”

I’m not suggesting that we grow soft on biblical truth. I want to stand firm on everything Jesus stood firm on. But I want to be careful to say the things that Jesus said in the way that Jesus said them. I want to hold those truths in such a way that I actually look and act and feel to other people like Jesus!

Here’s a helpful rule of thumb: If you find your theological convictions making you less like Jesus, then something is off. If you can’t live consistently with your beliefs in such a way that your life looks like Jesus’ life, then you’re missing something.

I am a conservative American Christian. There are very few areas where I have come to disagree with the Christianity I was taught growing up or even with my very conservative seminary training. But I have come to see numerous areas in which some aspects of that theology were wrongly emphasized, or held with a sinful level of certainty, or wielded like a weapon rather than borne in love and grace. And I have also seen many of my brothers and sisters (and also myself) turn to other battles that we have never been called to.

So I am continuing to try to live in that journey of pursuing the words, works, and ways of Jesus. It’s not enough to quote chapter and verse. We have to quote chapter and verse while also living in love and embodying the grace that God so readily extends to everyone around us. That is the journey of Jackass Theology. And I’m deeply thankful for a growing group of people that are on that same journey with me.

How Worship Reshapes Our Political Engagement

Mark Beuving

September 21, 2020

Is there wisdom in the call to keep our religion and politics separate? Or not? There are some voices saying very loudly that if you’re a true Christian, you will always vote Republican. Others get more specific and say that those who don’t vote for Donald Trump in this election are not true Christians. Both of these statements are wrong at best and idolatrous at worst. Does that then mean that we must keep these two spheres separate? That our religious beliefs have no bearing on our political involvement? I don’t think that’s the right approach either.

In truth, our politics and our religion shape each other. But not in the way the Christian voter guides seem to believe. It’s not about telling you which measures and candidates fit a Christian worldview. It’s more a matter of being formed by Christian worship and letting our constantly formed selves engage in the political process. I’ll follow some of James K.A. Smith’s thoughts on how this plays out.

As the Church, we gather regularly to be reminded of the deepest realities: that we have been created in the image of God, that though we are broken and unable to heal ourselves, Jesus has sacrificed himself on our behalf and offers us healing and forgiveness through his death and resurrection, that he is the ultimate King and Judge who will someday right every wrong and establish a perfect society. So when we engage in these deep realities as the Church, we are renewing our minds (as Paul says in Rom. 12:2) and reshaping the core of our being, so that when we step into political engagement of various types, we step in as people shaped by the Gospel and the community of Christ. Again, this is so much deeper than being told which candidate is supposedly the “Christian choice.”

“We’re told that true Christians vote Republican. Can this really be a Christian approach to politics? Politics and religion shape each other, but not like that. We are shaped by worship, which then forms our engagement.”

Picture yourself in a Church gathering. When we read, preach, and meditate on Scripture, we are reminding ourselves that there is a true King infinitely higher than any public official, that there is a higher allegiance that trumps all others, that the Good News is a proclamation of a specific King and Kingdom that we can never equate with any person or proposition on a ballot. We remind each other that “pure and undefiled religion before God the Father is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained from the world” (James 1:27). We once again fill our imaginations with narratives of God leading the weak to victory and of Jesus forgiving those who attacked him. We are reminded of vital truths like sin and forgiveness, holiness and justice, humility and love, peace and patience, and so many others.

This continual reading and rereading of Scriptures refines and shapes us on an ongoing basis, and this process fits us for political involvement in a way that reading the denominational voting guides never could.

When we take the Lord’s Supper together, we are invited to a meal (of sorts) to which everyone is invited. We are formed by the sacrificial act that this meal commemorates. Jesus’ self-emptying sacrifice plots a path forward for the manner of our own political engagement (along with every other aspect of our lives). As those who regularly take Communion, we don’t battle for dominance, we find ways to serve, to consider other people more important than ourselves. We are reminded that though we must roll up our sleeves and get to work in every area of society, what ails us most deeply is ultimately healed by the blood of one who died and rose again.

When we gather for worship, we form an assembly that gives a picture to our own selves and the world around us that we are citizens of a different kingdom. In that kingdom, the weak are the strong, the greatest treasures are hidden in frail earthen vessels, and the last are first. In this kingdom, we are taught to wait on the Lord, not to accomplish our own ends in our own timeframe at any cost. Christian theology has always carried the tension between the already and the not yet. Already we have been united to and transformed by Christ. But we are not yet experiencing that reality as we one day will. Christ’s kingdom is already here, but its fullness has not yet arrived.

Worship keeps us from following the tactics of others around us, who work themselves to the bone in desperation, who labor in fear, who have no outside help to lean on in seeing their ends made real, who make use of negativity and fear and manipulation to accomplish their goals.

And when we leave our gatherings, we are sending one another back into the world with a reminder of the mission that has always been ours.

Above all, Christian worship reminds us that our allegiance lies in only one place. We place of faith in Jesus. Ultimately, faith is not a what word; it’s a who word. It’s about pledging our allegiance to Jesus. That does not preclude political involvement in the kingdoms of this world, but it should make us think twice about what it means to pledge our allegiance elsewhere.

Notice that in this post, I’m not calling us to do something extra. I’m calling all of us to lean further into the things that are already there. If we let these things shape us more deeply, if we allow the impact of our Christian worship to extend to every aspect of our lives, not just our Sunday morning selves, then every element of our political engagement will be deeply formed by Jesus—whether others consider it “Christian” or not.

The Evicted Church

Mark Beuving

May 11, 2020

As I and every pastor I know follow the COVID-19 shelter-in-place orders, we have essentially been evicted from our church buildings. Our largest units of “gatherings” right now are single families. Every church I know of has done a great job of adapting and doing the best they can in the face of a crisis. I think people are having vibrant experiences of Jesus in this season.

Still, I cannot stop myself from thinking about what “church” should look like once we are allowed to gather in any unit larger than single families. I see an opportunity here. To my mind, it seems likely that we’ll be able to gather in small groups (size TBD) before too long. It also seems likely that it will be quite some time before we can meet in groups of hundreds.

Because of this, I think it is vital that we all think beyond what we did when we met in large gatherings in our church buildings. If all we do during this season is continue to export church services recorded in empty church buildings (I’m not knocking this, just saying it can’t be ALL we do), then our experience of church during this season of eviction will be unnecessarily anemic.

Now, that doesn’t mean modern church services are bad or unbiblical or ungodly. It just means that I’m convinced there’s more to the concept of church than what we have customarily squeezed onto a single stage and into a single hour on a Sunday morning. I’m also not saying that we should do away with our typical Sunday services when we eventually get the opportunity to resume. But I am saying that we should not equate those modern church services with church itself.

“We have all been essentially evicted from our church buildings. If ALL we do during this season is continue to export church services recorded in empty church buildings, the church will be unnecessarily anemic.”

I am convinced that when we cancelled the large church gatherings starting on March 15, we weren’t cancelling church. Because the church has never been about a service, a building, or a nonprofit organization.

Here’s the biblical reality: we are the church. You won’t find a New Testament reference to the church as a building or a service. What you’ll find instead is that the church is a collection of people.

So, yes, we’ve been evicted from our buildings for a time. But that doesn’t stop us from being the church. It’s only a hindrance if we allow it to be. And we’ll only allow it to be a hindrance if we are unable to imagine church beyond what happens during services in a specific location. Given the fact that God launched his church 2,000 years ago in a setting that looks almost nothing like 21st century America, we should feel free to use our Bibles and our imaginations to pursue healthy and vibrant approaches to being the church in our cultural moment.

So what does it mean for us to live as the church when we’re essentially evicted from our buildings? One thing we can say for sure is that church has never actually fit onto a single stage or into a single hour. The temptation is huge to think that it does. The challenge for us, now that we’re evicted from our buildings, is to avoid taking our cues from the worship services we’ve always known. Try this as a thought experiment:

Person A has never read the Bible, but has a lifetime of experience in attending a typical American worship service. Person B has never attended a typical American worship service, but reads the New Testament incessantly. Person A and Person B each set out to create a meaningful gathering with a handful of other people in their backyards. What do you think is the likelihood that the gatherings crafted by A and B will look anything alike?

“How do we live as the church when we’re essentially evicted from our buildings? Church has never fit onto a single stage or into a single hour. It’s going to be all about small gatherings in homes for a while.”

Or think of it this way. If I’m reading an English translation of a book that was originally written in Danish, I should expect that I’ll get the idea clearly enough but will probably be missing some nuances in the original text. Now, what if I’m reading an English translation of a Cantonese translation of that Danish book? I’ll probably get the idea, but there will be some quirks that come through this telephone-game approach to reading the text.

So as we think about what it will look like to meet together in homes or backyards in small groups, I strongly encourage each of us to think through what it will look like for us to gather and scatter as the church based on the picture of the church we get in the New Testament. For this unique season, I think it would be enormously beneficial for each of us to forget that we’ve ever seen a typical American worship service and to instead custom create home church gatherings that are specifically designed for meeting in homes or backyards.

This is the moment for all of us to use our best creative energy to imagine what the church could look like during this season of eviction. What will vibrant gatherings entail? How will we empower mission and keep it at the forefront? What about engagement with Scripture, worship, prayer, and communion? If we stumble into this season without critical thought and careful training, I think the church will be impoverished for a time.

To that end, I put together a short mini-book (32 pages) to help pastors, small group leaders, and church members imagine what church could look like in their small, unique settings. It’s called The Evicted Church. I’m not laying out a model, just pushing us all to engage in critical thought so we can be prepared. The reality is that the early church looked more like the season we’re heading into (small gatherings in homes) than what we’ve been doing (large gatherings in specific buildings). Let’s enter this season with enthusiasm and purpose.

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